Shadow helps me sit, pulling my dress aside just enough to reveal the curve of my hipbone. The cold swipe of disinfectant makes me shiver.
“Property of Shadow,” Ink confirms, meeting my gaze. “You sure?”
Shadow’s hand finds mine before I can answer. His thumb strokes over my knuckles, grounding me. “You can have whatever you like, just a symbol with my name, whatever,” he murmurs.
I stare at my name, still bleeding faintly on his chest.Remi.
And for the first time in my life, I feel wanted enough to want it back.
“I want what all the other old ladies have, if that’s tradition,” I whisper.
Ink nods, switching on the machine.
The first sting makes me gasp, but it’s bearable. The sound of the needle blends with my heartbeat. Shadow never lets go of my hand. He stays close, thumb moving slow, steady circles against my skin until the pain turns into something else, warmth, adrenaline, pride.
When he finally wipes the last of the ink away, I risk a look.
The letters are small, neat, dark against my pale skin.
Property of Shadow.
It should feel like a brand, a reminder of everything I ran from, but it doesn’t.
It feels like freedom. Protection. Belonging.
Shadow crouches in front of me, eyes locked on the fresh ink. His voice is low, rough with emotion. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
I smile faintly. “You have no idea whatthismeans to me.”
He leans forward and kisses just above the tattoo, like he’s sealing it.
I feel whole.
Later that night, the clubhouse has gone quiet. The engines have died, the laughter’s faded, and the smell of beer and smoke lingers in the air like the memory of a storm.
We’re in his room again—our room, now. The door’s shut, the lights are low, and the only sound is the rain tapping softly at the window.
Shadow lies on his back beside me, bare chest rising slow and steady, the ink on his skin still fresh and red. My name sits just above his heart, bold against the mess of tattoos and scars. Every time he breathes, it moves, like I live there now.
My fingers trace the letters, light enough not to hurt. “You didn’t even flinch,” I whisper.
He grins faintly, eyes half-closed. “Didn’t wanna give Ink the satisfaction.”
I smile, small but real. “You’re impossible.”
He catches my wrist, turning me gently so he can see the new ink on my hip. His thumb brushes over it, careful. “I never want this covered up,” he says, bending to place another kiss there. “I want the world to see it.”
“You want me to walk around half-naked?” I ask, my tone teasing.
He laughs, crawling over me and kissing the end of my nose. “I’d have to kill everyone who saw it.” He drops back down beside me, resuming position. “Thank you,” he adds, his tone suddenly serious. “I know today was a lot, but you choosing to stay, to forgive me for the way I behaved—”
“I fucked up first,” I remind him. “I should never have taken from you after everything you did for me.”
He wraps his arm around me tighter. “We don’t need to go over old ground, Rem. We both messed up, but now, we’re making it right. I’ll never leave you again, no matter what. That’s a promise to my old lady. And you can come to me with any problem, and I will make it disappear. We’re a team.”
For a long while, neither of us speaks. The rain grows heavier outside. His hand moves to my hair, lazy strokes that make my eyes sting with exhaustion and something softer.
“I keep waiting to wake up,” I admit. “To find out it’s all a dream. That I’m still in that house, still cleaning up his mess.”
